


Stability (a fickle thing)

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Gender Identity, Hurt/Comfort, James In A Dress, Other, Post-Canon, Trans Character, transterrorweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 16:56:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21323545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: The memory green and golden lights weaving themselves across the dark sky still haunted James Fitzjames. A simple thing. An innocent thing, really.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44





	Stability (a fickle thing)

The memory green and golden lights weaving themselves across the dark sky still haunted James Fitzjames. A simple thing. An innocent thing, really.

He saw the lights in the swish of fabric as women and men passed him in the street, in the glow of lamps, in the sight of whiskey being poured from a tumbler into a glass.

He’d managed to get home alive, he reminded himself. Francis too. And many of the crew.

The lights weren’t even close to being the worst part of his nightmares, those that plagued him while he was asleep and awake. Just colors and lights. Not the sounds of his men dying. Not the cold or the scent of frost in the air that woke him every morning these days, his leg complaining and his heartbeat too loud in his ears.

And yet he found himself not daring to look up at the sky when it got dark, in fear of starting to hallucinate. Found himself spending most the night drawing in his soft dressing gown and slippers instead of sleeping beside Francis.

Found himself reaching for his cane when they were going on a walk so that he had a reason to keep his unsteady hands occupied. It would not do to allow strangers to see them shake hours after he’d woken up sweating and whimpering, half-convinced that he was in a hammock at sea instead of in his own bed.

As winter approached and James put on even more layers to ward away the cold, he started lingering in front of stores which sold women’s clothes, dresses in elegant purple like the very edge of the Aurora Borealis, or in the many shades of green. Perhaps if he would wear those colors, they would become his and stop being something to be afraid of.

Wearing snowy white shirts and a dark blue uniform, the colors of snow and the sea, already helped remind him that he was back home now. That these were colors that the landscape might occasionally supply, instead of it being a constant.

Of course, Francis noticed that something was going on.

“You can go inside, you know,” he said, as James halted in front of yet another shop. His voice was soft and careful. “It won’t do any harm.”

“How would I explain it?” James asked, weary and clutching the cane.

The thought of a new dress made him feel unsteady. And yet he wanted. And wanted. And wanted.

He’d spent his career in the Navy being so desperately grateful for how the collar and cravat hide his lack of an Adam’s apple, how the thick fabric had hidden his wide hips. He had been on the run all his life, never letting anyone come so close to realize that he’s made a living keeping certain secrets safe and sound.

He’d met others like him, of course. All kinds of people joined the Navy to escape things on land. He’d offered them socks to put down their underthings and tips on how to knock out a man in one punch.

These were not things that Francis had to learn.

When they’d first made love in that tiny cabin, stuck in the Artic and running out of hope, James had wrapped his legs around Francis’s waist and pressed against the socks in Francis’s trousers. He’d kissed Francis’s bare neck, nails digging into his soft hips and backside.

Layers had slid off, one by one.

And then James had gone down to his knees.

The uniform was a comfort, in many ways. But now that James was back home, the thought of putting on a new dress haunted him to the point where he’d started looking at ladies’ outfits in the street with a tailor’s eye. The length and shape of the skirts, the delicate gloves and interesting hats. Things he’d told himself to forget all about, long ago.

“You could tell them that we are here to look around, perhaps?” Francis said, a gleam in his eyes as he gestured at the shop’s door. He pressed his hand against James’ forearm, comforting. “I might want to give the woman I’m courting so successfully a dress as a present.”

“Oh,” James heard himself say, blushing. “Just a look around, then.”

Francis nodded, letting him lead the way into the shop. And then another shop. And another.

James looked at fabrics and asked tentative questions, the part of him that was and always would be a child who was afraid of getting caught was howling at him in terror every time that he’s brought something new to inspect. Petticoats and shoes and even a few corsets.

“Ah,” James managed. “Layers are important.”

The dress that she wore at home on the days where the staff had their days off was old and worn and ill fitting. But it was familiar. And hers.

No one but Francis had ever seen her wear it.

“Sometimes it is nice to be able to choose between being a woman and a man,” she tried to explain one evening as she lay with her head in Francis’s lap in front of the roaring hearth. “I’ve spent so much of my life working so hard at being a man.”

And Francis had nodded, his hand resting over her heart.

“You have,” Francis said, after a while. “It must be a relief to rest, for a while. And I’m happy that you trust me to be like this around me instead of hiding.”

“It was like breaking my ribs open to reveal my heart,” James breathed, remembering the ice flooding her veins when Francis had wandered into the room where she was drawing in her old dress, having forgotten the time as she was too absorbed in her creation. “But I can’t bring myself to regret it.”

Francis lingered around the shops, keeping a watchful eye on James and making humming sounds in appropriate places.

No one made any ugly comments as James listened to fashion tips, or glanced at him suspiciously as he touched soft green silk with shaky hands. They did not get thrown out and the door slammed in their faces. Instead they went home, spending most of the evening in the comfort of each other’s arms.

And then a few weeks later, James accepted several large boxes that had been send to his house, containing delicate and not-so-delicate things wrapped in paper.

She looked at every item for a long time, holding up soft specially made slippers and a warm petticoat. And then a dress in two pieces. And the corset and its cover.

It took some time to put everything on. But finally, she found herself walking around her bedroom with the light green skirt swishing around her ankles. She was so preoccupied with her new dress, fingers tracing the bodice and admiring the sleeves that she did not see Francis come into the room.

“Oh,” she said, a thousand questions about measurements and cost on her lips. But they all faded away when she saw the utterly delighted look on his face.

“Ah,” he said, brightly. “There’s my wife.”

“Hello,” James managed shakily, emotions washing over her like huge waves. She reached out for Francis, wrapping her arms around him and kissing the top of his head.

“I see that you like your new dress,” Francis said.

She could hear the smile in his voice.

“I do,” she said, her hands cupping his jaw. “It’s wonderful.”

Then she kissed him, pressing her whole body against him and crushing her lips against his as if they were teenagers with little time before their next lesson. He relaxed against her, letting her push him against the wall and deepening the kiss.

His hands stroked the fabric of the dress, so different from the usual roughness of their uniforms. When they pulled apart, James could almost see herself through Francis’s eyes: the blush on her face, the brightness of her eyes. Even the glossy hair that she’d waited for so long after they’d returned, now so neatly styled.

“Here I am,” James said, mirroring the grin on Francis’s face.


End file.
